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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25142173">listen close and listen well, my friends</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_inaboxx/pseuds/jack_inaboxx'>jack_inaboxx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work, Star Wars, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>do i tag things that aren't technically an original work but focus on OCs as original work or no?, i am Unsure</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:21:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25142173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_inaboxx/pseuds/jack_inaboxx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was never black and white. There's always the grey.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. sit by the fire, stay a while</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is actually one of the first canon works I've ever posted here.<br/>And by canon, I mean, something more than "a drabble that probably won't ever make it into what actually happens in any of my novels or more 'official' writing".<br/>So this is a milestone! Yay!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Let me tell you a story<br/>Of love, of life, of pain<br/>And listen to it closely<br/>So you can tell it again </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There are six of them, in the end. </p><p> </p><p>Rhel Vohdin-Jun is a Jedi. He has been a Jedi all his life. He, and his brother, were born in the Temple, from a Force-sensitive mother. </p><p>He was born a Jedi. </p><p>He would have liked to die as one, too, but we do not always get what we want. </p><p>Rhel Vohdin-Jun does not Fall. He does not stray from the path of the Light. But sometimes, when he can afford it, when no one is looking, he will stray from the Jedi Code. </p><p>The Code says that he cannot form attachments. He could never have followed that. Not while his brother lives, even if that brother <em> does </em>Fall. </p><p>So he is a Jedi, but he is not, perhaps, a <em> Jedi </em>. </p><p>(His saber is purple. He wonders, often, whether Master Windu ever has this problem.)</p><p>And that makes about as much sense to him as it would to anyone else, he imagines. </p><p> </p><p>Kias Dormiir was, once, a Jedi. </p><p>He is not, anymore, but he is not quite a Sith either, anymore. </p><p>Kias Dormiir was a Jedi, a long time ago, before he was pushed to Falling by someone he trusted, once. He was dragged into the Dark, kicking and screaming, and trapped there, buried under hate and rage and pain until he feels like he must be drowning. </p><p>He’s dragged back to the Light the same way. </p><p>It’s his brother, of course. It’s always his brother, when it comes to saving him. </p><p>His saber had never managed to turn red, not even when he broke it apart and rebuilt it, and it still isn’t. It’s not the easy blue that it had once been, no, but now it is a steady, firm yellow. </p><p>The Temple guards had once had yellow sabers, he remembers. </p><p>He wonders if that’s supposed to mean anything. </p><p> </p><p>Crix Duelian is not a Jedi, and perhaps he never was. </p><p>Yes, he was taken to the Temple. He was trained, Knighted, was even made a Master. </p><p>But titles do not make a Jedi, and he does not think he has ever been that. </p><p>His saber never took a color. His Master always assured him that it would, in time, but it has yet to and he’s starting to think that it never will. </p><p>Which is just typical of him, really. </p><p>‘Your specialty will manifest, padawan’. ‘The branch of Force you should study will become clear, padawan’. Well, it hasn’t yet, and so he’d just studied them all. </p><p>Sometimes it turned out well. </p><p>And then, sometimes, he’s left staring at a blank, white saberstaff after hours of frustrating and useless meditation, and wondering what he’s supposed to <em> do </em>. </p><p>So no, he’s not a Jedi. He never was. </p><p>But he has his saberstaff, whatever color it’s blade is, and he has his training, and maybe that’s enough.</p><p> </p><p>Zaniah Tapalo was only a Knight for a year before he Fell. </p><p>He is not a Sith, though, no. But he is not a Jedi. </p><p>Or perhaps he <em> is </em>a Sith, and he just hasn’t realized it yet. How can one be sure, really, when you’ve realized that all the rules you use to know those things are lies? </p><p>And that’s the problem, really, isn’t it? Why he Fell in the first place, those rules. No attachment, nothing that could corrupt you. </p><p>Including love. </p><p>Zaniah Tapalo can handle a lot of things about the Jedi Code, but that… that, he can’t. </p><p>He isn’t even sure why he bothered to try. All it did was hurt people, and he couldn’t stop loving anyway. </p><p>(It’s that thought that had nearly had him Fall out of hate, out of rage and pain and fear. He doesn’t.)</p><p>His saber, like Crix’s, is colorless; but not out of indecision; his was once a bright green, and only became white when he Fell. He becomes particularly skilled at wielding the Force because he knows that if his fellow Knights see his blade they will <em> know </em>what he has become. </p><p>For surely he is a monster? Is that not what Sith are? </p><p>(Later, not long after, he adds a darksaber to his own blade. He is not the first Jedi- or Sith- to wield a dual-bladed saber, but he is fairly certain that this is a new thing. Some part of him takes comfort in that. If it is new, surely he can be something new, as well?)</p><p>His men call him <em> darjetii </em>, and he decides that this is the best way to describe himself. </p><p> </p><p>Dasas Tadii is the only one of them that can truly be called a Jedi. </p><p>His saber is still a clear blue, and his belief in the Light remains untainted, even when he spends his time among all of them, all their ragged souls. </p><p>Or maybe that’s not quite true- his belief in the Light is different than theirs. </p><p>Master Fisto is the same way; he is much more flexible in his understanding of the Force, and as he was the one to train Dasas, perhaps it’s not so surprising. </p><p>They watch him, sometimes, training, wreathed in shining blue as his saber spins so quickly it seems to form one unending loop. </p><p>It’s so <em> blue </em>. </p><p>Whenever he sees them watching, he grins. </p><p>Dasas Tadii is wholly, unashamedly Jedi, but he has still chosen them, this ragged band of not-Jedi, and he sticks by them even when they grow less sure of themselves by the day. </p><p>He is Jedi, and he is sure of them when they can’t be. </p><p> </p><p>There is one other, in this band of lost people, who is not a Jedi, never was a Jedi, and does not call himself a Jedi. Will never call himself a Jedi. </p><p>His name is Ire Kevvaq, and he does not remember that. </p><p>This is what he knows; </p><p>He calls himself Red- not a name chosen by himself, but one he has taken as his own all the same- and he carries a red, dual-bladed saber. He knows, inexplicably, how to use the Force. People keep calling him Sith, and he is frequently attacked by those who claim he is evil. </p><p>He does not feel evil. Only confused, and a little lonely. </p><p>Sometimes, he is mistaken for someone called ‘Maul’. He does not know who that is. </p><p>(He had looked, once, because he had <em> hoped </em>- but it is not him. He still does not know who he is.) </p><p>His saber is red, but whatever evil he may have once carried in him, he does not think that it is there, anymore. He cannot feel it. The red of the saber haunts him still. </p><p>He is a Sith, he thinks, whatever that is, but he doesn’t feel the evil that people seem to associate with it. </p><p>Is he really a Sith, then? </p><p>He wishes he knew what one was. Then maybe he could figure it out. </p><p> </p><p>All of them are one, each a part of a whole. </p><p>Red is the last piece, and when he finds them, in all their <em> darjetii </em> glory, they tell him what Sith is, and tell him that he is more than that. All of them are different to what is the norm, even Dasas, in his own unique way. That, they tell him, is why they settle so easily against one another, pieces in a puzzle. </p><p>He is home. </p><p>(And this is why they fit; </p><p>They tell Rhel that he is as much a Jedi as he needs to be. </p><p>They tell Kias that he doesn’t need to be a Jedi or a Sith; he protects his brother, and that is all he needs. </p><p>They tell Crix that he doesn’t need a focus to be whole. </p><p>They tell Zaniah that he is no monster, even if he is not wholly Light; neither are they. </p><p>They tell Dasas that he needs no commitment to the way others see the Force to believe in it. </p><p>They tell Red that they will help him find his name, and he believes them.)</p><p>There are six of them, in the end.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Can you hear them?<br/>They sing, they cry, they live, they die<br/>And they do it all for us </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Listen close and listen well, my friends<br/>We've come to the edge, again<br/>Lost it all, ever since<br/>The end, the end</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. shoulder to shoulder, fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Voices in halls of white<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Echoing past our brothers<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>We may be born here<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>But here is not our home</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Here is what happens when you aren’t a perfect clone on Kamino; </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You get decomissioned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here is what happens when you aren’t a perfect clone on Kamino when General Ti finds out that they’re decomissioning clones for things like blonde hair or blue eyes; </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You get trained. You get sent to fight- but beside the Generals that the Kaminoans think will get you killed the fastest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The longnecks are sneaky, and spiteful, and they resent the </span>
  <em>
    <span>jetii </span>
  </em>
  <span>meddling in what they think is their own business, and they are very, very good at manipulation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here is what happens when you actually reach the fight; </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re saved. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Your number is CC-8342. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You have more than one name, but none of them are yours. You’ve been called Sport, Eddy, Undertow, Match, Scope, you’ve even been called Jazzy. None fit right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You go by your number. You don’t like it, but it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>yours</span>
  </em>
  <span>- and that’s more than those false names offer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To make up for your namelessness, you dye your hair. You let it grow long, and then style it in less and less military ways. You get strange, fancy clips and ties for it and hide them carefully when you don’t use them. You get tattoos, as many places as you can- arms, face, legs, chest, back. A riot of color, but one that works, paints a story. It’s still not </span>
  <em>
    <span>your  </span>
  </em>
  <span>story; you save that for a special place on your spine, a blank spot, one that you both hate and love in equal measure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you’re assigned your general, you don’t really think anything will change; you haven’t found your name yet, and you haven’t found your story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your General compliments your hair, your tattoos, and asks your name. He frowns a little when you give him your number. You aren’t sure why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things stay like that for a while. Then, one evening, your General catches you staring wistfully at a flimsibook of baby names. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You go stock-still, panicked, and you’re certain that your terrified expression must show even through the helmet you wear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he does is hum, and pick the book neatly off the shelf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like a second pair of eyes?” is all he asks, and you nearly choke on the sudden ball of emotions in your throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes please,” you whisper, and he smiles, like he understands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sit at a table in the corner of the library, in this rare break between war, a short rest on some Outer Rim world, and you pour over the book together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You don’t choose your name that night, but that’s all right; you’ll have other opportunities. You leave the book with a sense of regret all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s another month before you’ll meet your General’s brother; your first impression of him is terrifying. You’re no </span>
  <em>
    <span>jetii</span>
  </em>
  <span> but you can feel the waves of Dark pouring off of this terrible figure, and it makes you freeze, and you can’t breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the Sith- for that </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be what he is- doesn’t look at you, doesn’t look away from lifting a great mound of debris away from- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those are </span>
  <em>
    <span>vod’e</span>
  </em>
  <span>, under it. Trapped. And the Sith is- freeing them…? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You decide this problem can wait; you run to your brothers and you drag them to safety and it isn’t until later that you realize it’s easier than it should have been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Sith stays on the ship. You avoid him, fearful, and try to ignore your General’s increasingly sad looks when he notices you doing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then- then, it changes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re there because it’s a briefing and you can’t leave, can’t escape the images and the feeling of terrible, terrible </span>
  <em>
    <span>darkness</span>
  </em>
  <span> but- it isn’t there. All you feel are echoes, ghosts of a memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the briefing is over, you make to flee, but the Sith blocks your path, and you think, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is it- this is how you die</span>
  </em>
  <span> because you knew your General was too good to be true and surely he wouldn’t choose some clone over his own brother, but- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Sith holds out a book, looking awkward and- and </span>
  <em>
    <span>young</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like a child that’s trying to befriend a crush, or a teen trying to talk about feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, shuffling on his feet, looking uncomfortable and trying to meet your eyes but not quite succeeding. You’re… speechless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, you take the book, and the Sith continues, stumbling over his words in his haste to explain himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I marked some of the names that remind me of you and Rhel did too, but I don’t know what you prefer so I got the biggest book of names I could find and if you need a bigger one I think I could look harder but-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“General,” you say, because you know what nervous rambling looks like and you want him to breathe. He stops, mouth closing so fast you can hear his teeth click. “Thank you.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>You don’t really realize what you’ve called him until you’ve already left the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not Sith, you decide, </span>
  <em>
    <span>darjetii</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you next meet, both Generals and a handful of other commanders, you introduce yourself with pride. The name is one that both Generals had marked; it settles into you neatly, like a well-worn helmet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Commander Hunt, reporting for duty,” you say, filled with more confidence than you’ve felt in a long time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You refuse your number. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You haven’t got a name, yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You look identical to every other brother in your squad, but you’re branded a troublemaker from almost the moment you’re decanted. You almost don’t make it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>General Ti smuggles you out and sends you to someone she promises will help. You’re not so sure, but General Ti is </span>
  <em>
    <span>buir</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and you trust her. You can give her this much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The General she assigns you to is… strange. He carries a staff, but no lightsaber that you can see, and he looks exhausted, and still bustles around as though the entire war depends on him finishing whatever menial task he’s doing. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re there, aside from handing you a stack of flimsi with a hurried mumble of thanks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. Is this one going to treat him like furniture? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, it turns out, because a moment later he leaps like someone’s shot his </span>
  <em>
    <span>shebs </span>
  </em>
  <span>and snatches the flimsi back, apologizing profusely and looking so </span>
  <em>
    <span>earnest </span>
  </em>
  <span>that you can’t stay mad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You tell him it’s alright, and he fusses a little more but that seems to be his default state, so you don’t worry too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, he asks your name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You hesitate, and that seems to be all he needs because he nods reassuringly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all right, I can just use your title for now,” he says, and that he doesn’t once consider using your number makes you feel strangely warm in the chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe this will be alright, you think. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You don’t know your number. It hasn’t been used in years, even by the trainers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You go by ‘Lucky’. It’s not your name, but it’s better than nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only reason you’re alive is because you’re a curiosity. An experiment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were one of very few to grow in a tube with another clone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your tubemate is called Blue. His number is CC-8183. He hates it. He loves you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The longnecks never separate you; you like to pretend it’s because of the threatening glare you give them every time they look like they might try, but realistically you know it’s just because they’re not done with your experiment yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re shipped out separately. You know it’s done on purpose. You hate them. One day, when you’re stronger, you’re going to kill them and take your brothers away from that </span>
  <em>
    <span>place</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It turns out, you don’t have to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You spend only a week under one General, you didn’t bother to learn which, and then you’re reassigned. You stare at the number on the form and try not to let hope take root. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue is waiting for you when you arrive on Coruscant with the handful of shinies you demanded come with you, and he looks… he looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s done something with his hair, and the paint on his armor is lovingly preserved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome home, </span>
  <em>
    <span>vod</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he says to you, and then your General shows up, and- and he’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>young</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>vode </span>
  </em>
  <span>are a little odd, age-wise, but they know the face of a youth all the same. This General has to be barely twenty. You can’t help the startled double-take you do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks tired, too. He has an ancient-beyond-his-years aura that you’re told all </span>
  <em>
    <span>jetii</span>
  </em>
  <span> do, but- even then, he looks so unbelievably tired. There are bags under his eyes and wrinkles that shouldn’t be there on someone so young. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“General,” you say, snapping off a salute, and you get a tired smile and a loose battlesign for ‘relax’ rather than a verbal reply. “Commander Lucky, sir,” you inform him, deliberately using your name, and he smiles, holds out his hand for you to shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pleased to meet you, Lucky,” he says to you, and you realize that this one is good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re safe now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Your number is CC-6483. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your name is Cade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your hair is a brilliant golden-blonde and your eyes are mismatched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This almost gets you killed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You get assigned to General Krell for your first assignment. You watch your brothers slaughtered around you, because of the General’s idiocy. His plans are so terrible that you wonder if he’s just trying to kill you all. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Good soldiers follow orders</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You decide that you aren’t a good soldier. You ask for reassignment and you take what’s left of your squad with you. That vod’kyramund won’t touch them again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You get assigned to General Tadii. You haven’t heard much about him, but he gives you a kind smile when you salute him and he makes a passable effort at a greeting in Mando’a. Around you, your brothers relax. You stare him in the eyes and hold your position, daring him to hurt your brothers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t let anyone harm you,” he promises, and they should be empty words, they should, but- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks right into your eyes through your helmet, and you want to believe him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” you whisper, and his smile, brilliant as it is, is sad around the edges. You pretend not to notice, and you think he might be grateful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You aren’t assigned to General- to Commander- to Red. He isn’t even part of the GAR, officially. But he always seems to turn up right when you need help, and that means a lot to you and your brothers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once, when he’s healing the deep slashes in your forearm from shrapnel, you ask him why he does it. He gives you a look like you’ve just asked him to take off his clothes- affronted and embarrassed. Immediately, you go to apologize, but he just holds up a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then- he </span>
  <em>
    <span>answers. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I know what it feels like to be used as a tool,” he says, and there’s bitterness there, old, the kind that sits in the bones and lurks. You know it well. “And I won’t let anyone else feel that if I can help it.” You don’t have the heart to tell him it’s already too late for you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, you think, it might not be too late for some of the others. For the shinies, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>vod’e’ika</span>
  </em>
  <span> on Kamino, for any troopers still holding out hope even as they watch their brothers die in the thousands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You look away. It’s too late for you, but maybe not for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not for them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Here is what happens when you aren’t a perfect clone on Kamino; </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You get decommissioned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here is what happens when you aren’t a perfect clone on the battlefield; </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You are saved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vode</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you are people, and you are saved. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Born for war, bred for battle<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>We are brothers in arms<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>So hear our names<br/></span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The storm, it rages<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Constant, cruel, uncaring<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>The storm, it rages<br/></span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
  <span>Against a fight it’s losing</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. mini update</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>not actually a chapter</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alright, here's the deal; I've been dragged back into Skyrim/Dragon Age/LotR hell. Which means, since I'm no longer hyperfixating on Star Wars, updates for this will be much slower (assuming I can actually get over the difficulty with chap 3 in the first place with any sort of speed). <br/>I AM NOT ABANDONING THIS FIC. <br/>Things are just going to be a little slower, since a lot of my motivation is gone and most of my energy is taken by other things.</p>
  </div></div>
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